


these secrets i'm keeping

by Izzerslololol



Series: don't waste time [2]
Category: Star Wars Legends: Republic Commando Series - Karen Traviss
Genre: Because of Reasons, Crack Treated Seriously, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 15:45:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10834338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izzerslololol/pseuds/Izzerslololol
Summary: Mereel is the kind of liar who never lies, just smudge the edges and blurs the lines and tells the truth in such a way the listener can only lean to suggestion in the wrong direction. All except Boss, apparently, who's dealt with his brothers' smart mouths enough to not have time for this osik.(Blink-and-you-miss kinda ship.)





	1. cards are a no-brainer

**Author's Note:**

> I'm repeating myself, so if you read the first in this series it's the same pseudo-disclaimer.
> 
> This ship, borne out of far too many late nights and extensive interactions between two writers with two characters who barely ever interacted on-screen in text, has enough drabbles and stand-alones to, I think, deserve its own tag. I know, I know. Mereel and Boss? Really?
> 
> But, for whatever reason, it works ... or works well enough to share these drabbles. Most of them are blink-and-miss moments, but hell, that's part of the fun, right?
> 
> Most of these are written from prompts. Prompts will be in the chapter titles, I suppose.
> 
> One day I'll properly backdate all of my drabbles. Today is not that day.

“Explain the rules one more time,” the Pilot grumbled over the cards in her hand. The pot on the crate had nearly doubled in size since they’d begun the game, and the small-class freighter they hitched a ride from had a pilot with less than stellar card skills.

Mereel just couldn’t help himself.

Boss shifted the cards in his hand, reordering them on even intervals, as if to confuse the rest of them. Mereel hadn’t paid him any mind. Instead, he pushed his cards together and laid them face-down in a single pile in his lap.

“Closest to twenty one, or neg-twenty one, wins. Positive trumps negative of the same amount. Wilds mess up your friends, Fool’s Array messes up everyone.”

“Okay…” The pilot frowned over her cards. “I guess that’s simple enough.”

“Every round increases two pots, first is for general victory, second is for straight twenty one or fool’s array.”

On the center of the crate were false-coins, stacked neatly by denomination. The secondary pot sat off to the side, roughly half the size, but built with higher denomination coin. He glanced from the pot to Boss. The man blinked at him, then began to reorder his cards a second time.

Mereel cut off his reorder with a sudden, “Hey, you remember that time on the defunct asteroid you told me about? With the _dini'la_ ARC reminded you of me?”

Boss frowned at him.

“What about it?”

Card counting pointed at a good chance of his brother having a winning hand. A good distraction was needed. “Well…”

 

* * *

 

“Sergeant 38, right?” Mereel looked the famed Delta squad leader over from head to foot. Kit strapped right, good posture, armor plates cleaned and polished. It wasn’t an inspection, but he’d rather check the man over first before he decided on how he felt about him.

Not that he hadn’t already made his decision years back on Kamino, but that was hardly the point of the solo training during squad downtime. With one in surgery and two in recovery, Delta found themselves benched with only one fully functioning squad member all dressed up and nowhere to go.

Mereel had drawn the short straw to relieve the Sergeant of his extended lunch break, maybe give him a tour of the sights, or go fishing. Another of the Alpha ARCs was originally given the assignment, but, well—long story short, that was the last time Mereel would gamble with one of Jango’s own.

Kriffing ARCs didn’t have tells, they had lies and trickery. And handsome smiles that didn’t quite reach their eyes. But Mereel guessed if he’d been trained like them, he’d have turned out the same way.

_Who am I kidding? I’m all of the above, just more handsome._

“The boys call me Boss,” 38 replied in perfect Concordian accent, and Mereel switched off his outbound to sigh. He hadn’t forgotten the man sounded an echo of Jango, but he’d hoped he lost the accent over the course of the war.

It wasn’t the case, and he sounded just like the damn ARC that shifted the assignment.

He blinked his outbound back on. “Well Boss, if you’d be so kind as to join me on a walk, we have a pest control issue needs seeing to.”

Boss hesitated for a half-second, eyes flickered to Medical and back. Mereel felt a pang of empathy, despite his current irritation.

“They’re being looked after, you’ve already seen the report. They’ll be back to a hundred percent in no time, but until then you have time to kill ‘fore you go soft.”

“Soft?” Boss drawled, one brow arched.

_Ah. So the man thinks I’m obvious._

“Stand up straight, Sergeant,” Mereel widened the smile so it’d effect a noticeable change in his tone. “This is a review. Or did you want me to spell it out in simpler words?”

Boss blinked, then slowly straightened—complying, but not eagerly so. Mereel could respect that.

“Normally the ARC stationed at this base would be responsible for your babysitting, but since I woke up feeling charitable this morning I _volunteered.”_

He hadn’t bothered to remove his helmet, though if he were being honest, it was mostly due to his status of _Not-Supposed-To-Be-There._ Experience taught him to sit on the safe side of caution when blending in among _vode._ The only piece of identification he carried was a forgery anyway, one altered to override check code every handful of hours. The only one who knew was the ARC, and he didn’t much give a damn—at least until Mereel lost a hand of Sabacc.

Mereel dipped his head forward. “Suddenly, I’m feeling significantly less charitable, Sergeant.” Then he straightened. “But, since I empathize with your predicament, I’ll give you a free pass, just this once.”

Boss’ lips twitched in a frown, compressed over the response he, no doubt, had wanted to drop at his feet. Instead he responded: “Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t thank me just yet, we’re going fishing.”

Several hours and one dead bug nest later, Mereel sat on the corpse of the recently slotted queen and sipped from the canteen-pack stored in his armor. It was meant to store water, but…

With his assignments and his tendency to get sidetracked in voluntary excursions, he’d learned to mix his own high-calorie high-nutrient drinks. Alcohol-less, unless he was on break. But he hadn’t taken a break in a long time.

He watched, curious, as Boss climbed over the hill of decaying acid-shooting anthropods, using the broken leg of a large bug-warrior as a walking aid. The body of Katarn armor leaned heavily on the stick, and the helmet reared up to look at him. Even tired, he still held an edge to him—razor sharp, but a little unbalanced without his attachments.

Mereel decided he liked him, not just because he was a brother—simply just because.

“When I think of fishing,” Boss remarked, thoughtfully, “There’s a lot more water involved.”

“What’s fishing without some bait?” Mereel rose to his feet, and stomped, one legged, on the dead queen.

Boss’ HUD live feed swiveled as he took in the size of the corpse a second time.

“I think I’ll save being impressed for when we catch the thing.”

 

* * *

 

“That was you?”

“Maybe.”

Boss stared at him over the cards.

“All these lies, Mereel. And you’re surprised everyone asks you the same question twice.” He laid down his hand. _“Di'kut.”_

The Pilot peered at the hand. “What the hell is that?”

Mereel tossed his cards over the pot in feigned frustration and laughed. _“Damn.”_

“Fools Array,” Boss gruffed over a smirk and wrapped his hands around the two pots. “Now excuse me, I have coins to count.”


	2. my presence is a present

“Is this. _Ha.”_ Boss panted. _“Normal_ for you?”

Blaster fire pinged the ductwork above, scattering shards of weak metals and dust all around them.

“Believe it or not, no.” Mereel laughed over their comms as Boss hoofed it. “Had I known you’d made such an impact on your head-start in the Milky Way, I would’ve chosen a more discreet dinner party.”

“Why, you _jealous?”_

Boss concentrated on putting distance between him and their assailants. The old catwalks that comprised the separation barriers between Ward levels of the Citadel made for great shortcuts—but without an updated map, the network of interconnected tunnels acted more like a maze of traps than a coherent route of escape.

“Ah, _vod._ Maybe a little.”

“Just a little?”

“Could never get the _rough around the edges_ look together quite like you.”

The path came to a rapidly approaching end as he rounded the corner, a derelict speeder suddenly in view. Instead of slowing, Boss picked up the pace and _launched_ himself, gloved palms slapping down in a diving kong vault over the top, the armor plates of his shins just barely clearing the metal. His boots skidded on impact on the other side and his hands caught a grip on a utility pipe. The metal groaned, loud, under the force, as he swung himself around the corner.

“It’s a gift,” he gritted. His back plate cracked against hard stone. His M-15 Vindicator buzzed to life against his chest, jerked out from standby.

Separating his catwalk from Mereel’s own stood two sets of high rusted-over fences, a distance of five meters and a fall of fifty stories.

Mereel huffed a breathless laugh. “Is _that_ what you call it…”

Across the way, Boss watched as Mereel _leaped_ off the top of the secondary catwalk, twisting in a flip through the air and hitting the ground in a running roll. He smacked, hand over hand, over head, over crate, and _threw_ himself down a stack of broken down mechanical parts. His body twisted to clear through a small opening barely larger than himself. The second his boots hit the ground, he pushed off at the intersection of two walls and _jumped,_ wall to wall, and hauled himself back onto the secondary catwalk.

_“Shab.”_ Boss grinned on high adrenaline. “Who taught you all that fancy footwork?”

“On the job practice.” Mereel panted, the grin he wore evident in his tone. “And maybe racing Prudii through the flooded under-cities.”

“Undercities?” Boss peaked around the corner, and ducked again. The wall blew out chips of stone, breaking under enemy fire around his head. He reared his weapon and fired blindly—he had enough sinks to risk a few empty potshots if it lessened the heat on him. “You don’t mean back on Kamino?”

“I do.”

“That how you got lost?” A crackle sparked the break of shields, and a scream marked a hit. “Heard one of the Nulls got lost for a couple weeks.”

“Maybe.”

The Vindicator winked an alarm as the heatsink skirted on empty. Boss pulled back behind cover, the back of his helmet tapping against wall as he chuckled.

“That’s as good as a yes, _vod.”_ He popped the spent sink off the edge of the catwalk and reloaded.

“Broke my shin,” Mereel murmured, quiet, private, as if they were sharing a drink between bowed heads—as opposed to currently in the midst of a firefight and separated by a death’s leap. “Still have the pins for it.”

There was a story there. Boss could tell that easily enough. “They never said how they found you.”

Mereel’s feed shook, twisted around the corner and jerked back. A thin cloud of dust rained over the view. “They didn’t.”

_Pak pak pak_ popped in their shared comms—the sound of metal taking the shots meant for his _vod._

“What does—”

A loud _PING_ sounded from Mereel’s end. The catwalks rocked. Metal groaned, screamed, ground out and tore apart. Fire and smoke _blew_ out across the way and into the death’s leap.

Boss’ heart tripped up and choked in his throat in the half second it took for his eyes to adjust from the sight outside and back onto his HUD, to read then re-read Mereel’s reportedly steady vitals and still-live helmet feed.

“What the _haran?_ ”

“‘m fine. Got most of them.” A soft grunt, then hiss, of pain. “Lucky shot on utility pipe.”

_Lucky. Right._

“Why?” His voice came out strangely distant, at ease and conversational, despite the circumstance. “Why do I always agree to go with you on these walks?”

“Because. _Ah._ ‘Cause.” Mereel replied, with a slight shake in his voice due either to laughter, pain, or nerves—it was tough to tell with him. “You know I leave you presents after, obviously.”

“What?” Boss checked his kit—plenty ammo, armor at full capacity. He took a steadying breath. “Is that another euphemism for something? All I ever get is _shot at.”_

Mereel chuckled. “You don’t know?”

“Know _what?”_ He palmed a flashbang from it’s place in his utility webbing.

“Remember that delivery from Nar Shaddaa, after our camping trip in the Inner Rim?”

Boss thought about it.

“With the orange decals and the nice smelling soap?” He chucked the bang over the speeder he’d previously vaulted over. “That was _you?”_

“Yes.”

“There was no note. And it was left in the ‘fresher at our barracks.”

“Exactly.”

At the pop he ducked out around the corner and squeezed the Vindicator’s soft spots that made his gun work _so well_ for him. The assault rifle cuffed, familiar, reliable, in his hands as it fired tight, accurate round after round in short bursts. Several shouts of pain, followed close by a spray of green and blue blood, followed.

Returning fire ceased. The last of the enemy suit signatures winked off his map’s scanners.

He ran another scan for security’s sake. The scan refreshed near-instantly, clean. “All clear.”

Just to be on the safe side, he reloaded his rifle anyway. “And ‘m not sure I understand your meaning.”

Then he prodded the controls of his Vindicator, persuading it to fold into standby mode. It slicked back into its magnetic locks with barely a whisper. With his knees bent and back pressed to the wall, he took a moment to collect himself.

_“You’re so full of osik, Mer.”_ Mereel echoed in a perfect imitation of Boss’ Concord Dawn accent.

Boss sighed.

On the exhale, he eased forward, pushing his knuckles on the ground in front of him for a bit of added balance. His knees ached from holding the crouch, and so it took him extra care to return to full height.

“I’m expecting something special for this run.”

“ _Udesii,”_ Mereel cooed in that placating voice he tended to use over crying children and small animals. “I have something a little _extra special_ picked out already.”

“Already?” Boss bristled. “As in, you planned for this?” He noted the lack of light from Mereel’s feed and briefly spared concern as to whether or not his brother was buried under rubble, but he didn’t sound stressed enough for that. He shifted around the corner, heading back towards the now- _ruined_ derelict speeder.

“Plan for the worst, hope for the best, _ner vod._ ”

Several bodies lay in a pool of blood and other unmentionables. The commando lay a cursory scan over them, but the mercenary uniforms were enough of a giveaway. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last, he’d get shot up in the darker corners of the Wards, but a man could hope for an evening without a mess.

But, he guessed, it just wasn’t meant to be.

“Just get over here so we can move on.”

His 360° panoramic blinked twice in warning as a body dropped from the ceiling. His map’s scanners pointed to friendly, and it was confirmed with a tight: “Already here.”

Boss toed the closest merc, kicking him over, and then took a step back.

“Tonight wasn’t so bad,” he decided.

Mereel’s helmet cocked to the left, interested, but quiet. His entire right side took a fresh coat of ugly charring, but aside from the superficial burns to his armor, he looked fine.

_Yeah. Could’ve been worse._

Boss turned on his heel to face Mereel and shrugged. “At least I get a gift out of it.”


	3. because that's just for me to know

The door cycled open with a hiss and rolling warm air that skirted the section of his fatigues around his thighs. Boss turned to look over his shoulder at the intruder on his private time.

During the downtime after an operation, Boss tended to take a bit of time to himself, mostly to gather his thoughts if not outright blanket reset. And he needed one, after the last mission. Black-ops on TripleZero weren’t something he could say he was comfortable with. Hell, that applied to urban operations in general—at least not the kind they had to deal with over the past couple of months.

But he knew private time had to end early, what with the Null stepping out onto the roof behind him, invading his space to settle at his side and just within the bubble of his personal space. The party, left behind and stories below, had continued without pause—he made sure to keep in contact with the rest of Delta for periodic updates. He’d believed the rest would understand and leave him well enough alone.

Unfortunate, then, for him that a _di'kutla_ Null like Mereel, who did whatever he pleased regardless of the impact on everyone else around him, had to be associated with him and his squad.

Boss returned his attention to the Coruscant skyline as the man shuffled beside him, one hand in his pocket while the other balanced two tall, thin, glasses filled with sparkling liquid. “Party get to be too much for you?”

“Somethin’ like that.” Boss clipped. He hadn’t felt like talking before, and he certainly didn’t feel like talking now.

Mereel held out the hand with the two glasses, silently motioning for him to take one. Boss examined them from his peripheral vision. The moment dragged, the Null holding the glasses in his personal space and showed no sign of withdrawing.

Boss sighed.

“Non-alcoholic,” Mereel clarified softly. “Time for drinking’s passed.”

Boss agreed, but he wouldn’t stoop to saying as much out loud. So he simply accepted the drink, holding it in hand, and hoped it would be enough to send the Null away. The seconds passed in his head, counting up by tens. He reached 200, and sighed again.

The Null still remained.

Boss returned his attention to the shifting skyline. The lights of the city flickered, simultaneously soothing and alien. His mind wandered, considering the states of the commando squads below. The differences between Delta and Omega split severe lines between them, and while he hadn’t been bothered by that fact, he remembered enough of the facets of Mandalorian culture to spare some worry to other things.

“Is that the goal?” he asked aloud.

Mereel’s fatigues whispered in the cool air as his shoulders rose and fell. “I don’t think drinking is much of a goal, except to pass the time.”

“Not what I meant.”

“No?” Mereel shifted his weight forward. “Then what?”

Boss jerked his shoulders in a tight shrug. “Omega squad seems to be pairing off.”

“Ah.”

Boss frowned. He’d expected more, though he wasn’t sure why. “Y'ever think about it?”

“Of course I think about it.” Mereel shook his head with a slanted smile.

“Really? You don’t,” Boss moved the drink to his other hand. “You don’t seem the type.”

“If I had to be honest… there was one, some time ago,” Mereel started quietly. “Made me think about it.”

“What happened?” Boss frowned. He hadn’t expected the Null to be as forthcoming.

“Dunno.” Mereel shrugged again. “It just didn’t work out.”

“Don’t give me that load of _osik.”_ The words left him before he could reconsider. The Null wasn’t a brother, not really, and he knew better than to treat him as more than a curiosity. So for Boss to be comfortable around the man, well. He must have done something. Spiked his drink maybe—except he still had yet to take a sip.

“I really don’t know. I was considering it.” Mereel paused to take a sip from his glass, oblivious to Boss’ internal monologue. “Was gonna ask, I think. Working my way up to it.”

“And then she went and betrayed my brothers.” He quieted. A far-away look settled in Mereel’s eyes. “So I slotted her.“

_"Shab._ I…” Boss gritted around the initial smart-assed assessment of the man. “I’m sorry for asking.”

“Don’t be.” Mereel shrugged, and edged a smile as he looked at him through the corner of his eye. “I made it up.”

Boss nearly smacked him, but restrained himself. “You’re _kriffing_ kidding me.”

“Or maybe I didn’t, but now you’ll never know.” Mereel curled his head back and laughed. _“Koyacyii,_ brother. You should rejoin the party. ’m sure the Omega’s sergeant would appreciate it.”

Boss’ eyes narrowed. Irritation at _missing something_ prickled at the edges of his vision. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly how it sounds,” Mereel breezed as he stepped through the open door and back inside the building, out of sight.

Boss watched him go, and looked at his drink. He downed it in one controlled gulp, and thought about tossing the glass. But no, it didn’t belong to him, and Agent Wennen seemed a nice enough woman to not warrant shattering of her glassware.

He’d have to return it.

_Shab._

_He’d have to return it._

“…Damn it.”

As Boss turned on his heel to shuffle back inside, he refused to acknowledge that it was the excuse he wanted—needed—to rejoin the festivities.


End file.
